


The past is gone. It went by, like dusk to dawn.

by Aciel



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Connor Deserves Happiness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealous Connor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 17:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aciel/pseuds/Aciel
Summary: At first, being high made me gleeful. It made me forget every single upsetting thing. It made me laugh, it made me normal.Then, it made me numb.It feels as if nothing can fix me anymore.Connor's journey towards redemption and happiness. Written in Connor's POV.





	The past is gone. It went by, like dusk to dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I writing two fics at the same time when I can't even keep a schedule for just one? You bet your ass I am.
> 
> Basically, I had an idea while I was high and decided to write it down. I thought it wasn't so bad so I decided to publish it. But it may suck because I may not be a good writer. 
> 
> Also, Ben Platt left the Dear Evan Hansen family and I'm sad.

                  At first, being high made me gleeful. It made me forget every single upsetting thing. It made me laugh, it made me normal.  
Then, it made me numb. I no longer smiled nor laughed. It just made the pain bearable. It made things less upsetting but not it didn’t make them funny anymore. A good high would only leave me painless and empty.  
Now, weed only makes me feel… forgotten. It makes me feel lost for a couple of hours, it takes me to this quiet place where nothing can bother me, I can’t hear anything, can’t see anything, but I’m still mad. I’m still _so_ mad.

 

It’s like nothing can calm me down anymore. Like nothing can cure me. Weed worked at first, but overtime I must have used it too much. I should have only smoked when things were bad, which I did, at first. But things got worse and there wasn’t a time where I wouldn’t feel good. And I started smoking regularly. Until it wasn’t enough. Until I realised how broken I really was.

I can’t hear myself think over the never-ending screaming going on at my house. So I sneak out, every now and then. And sometimes, it feels so good that I feel like I don’t need to smoke. But it became an habit. And it feels like I can’t stop. Because I’ve been numbing the pain with weed so much that I fear stopping will awaken all the pain hidden inside of me. I haven’t gone a day without smoking. I don’t think I even can anymore. This is the only I can do. I can’t talk to anyone, there’s no one who would listen to me.

My phone is buzzing and I come back to reality. The phone displays “Larry” because of course it does. Because of course he noticed I’ve gone outside. Because _my bedroom doesn’t even have a door_. I take a deep breath.

“Connor, where are you?”

His voice is calm, but in the way I can hear the anger hidden behind it.

  
“Somewhere. Anywhere.”  
“Connor this is not funny. Where the fuck are you?”

There it is, the hidden anger. The proof that he’s not just a robot, or that he cares, even just a little bit.

  
“I’m going to be back home in 10.”  
“Don’t bother.”

_What?_

“What?”  
“I said: Don’t. Bother. Clearly, you don’t appreciate this home. Clearly, you don’t appreciate your family trying, for you. So don’t bother going home. Because this is not your home anymore.”  
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re kicking me out?”  
“We don’t deserve you acting this way with us. You’re disrespecting us. You scare Zoe. You scare your mother. We gave you the world, Connor. And you’re throwing it away like you have no care in the world.”  
“Trying? You call what you’ve done ‘trying’? You must be fucking kidding me right now. You’ve done nothing! When I told you I was stopping therapy because it wasn’t working, you stopped trying to help. Mom at least tried to find something else. But you stopped! You gave up on me.”  
“You’re just looking for attention, Connor. It’s time you realised that yourself. You’re trying to get validation for acting terrible. I’m tired of you acting like a child. It’s time you grew up.”  
“BUT I AM A CHILD. I’M 17!”  
“Stop screaming! You just don’t understand. You’ll thank me when you’re older and you realise how everything you’ve done was just childish whim.”

He hanged up on me. My _entire_ family threw me away. My own mother, who told me she would love me no matter what, threw me away. My father, who told me so many times when I was little that he was proud of having me as a son, threw me away. My sister, who would name her most precious doll after me because I was “her favourite”, threw me away. They all… gave up on me.

I suddenly remember the time when I tried to kill myself. It was right before the summer, at the end of May or early June. I had gone out once again. My mouth felt numb because I had smoked too much. I didn’t really know where I was going, I only knew that I wanted things to end. I had snatched every single pill that was around the house. Even the vitamins. I went to the nearest park. I don’t think I could have gone further.  
I had taken a bottle of whatever alcohol that was the strongest (I think it was whisky or rhum. I just remember that it was disgusting). I downed the bottle with as many pills as I could and passed out under a tree.

  
Needless to say, I was found and brought to the hospital. And even after that, my father — No, Larry - still called me out for doing this for attention. Of course, I only tried to kill myself for fame and popularity, everyone know that it what you seek when you _try to end your life_.

Right now, I’m desperate, I sobered up and I think I wouldn’t be able to smoke right now even if I wanted to.  
I think I know why Larry did that, why he kicked me out. He noticed pills had disappeared once again. He understood what I was going to do. And that’s his response. That’s how he’s reacted to me wanting to die once again.

At this point, I don’t even want to die anymore. I don’t want to disappear like I wanted to this morning. I don’t feel _empty_ anymore, I feel _angry_.

Angry at _my mother_ , because she didn’t try hard enough. Because her image was more important than my well-being.

I’m angry at _Zoe_ , for shutting me out without even trying to listen to what I might have had to say. I’m angry at her because she treated me like a monster.

I’m angry at _Larry_ , because he stopped seeing me as his son, because to him, I was nothing more than a criminal living in his house. I’m mad because he never accepted who I was.

But more than everything: I’m angry at **_myself_**. Because maybe I should’ve tried harder. Maybe I shouldn’t have started pot in the first place because I knew it made my mother sad.

I’m angry, I’m so mad. But, for once in my life, I’m glad I am. I thought I was too broken to feel anything. I thought the only way for me to redeem myself, to get better was by killing myself. But now the fire inside me is burning for something else. It’s a burning desire of getting better, of proving myself to Larry. Because I may have my flaws, but I know a father should never give up on a child like Larry did with me. **_I am not a lost cause._**

For once in my life, suicide does not seem like the only option. Actually, it’s the last option I’m considering. Because Larry expects me to kill myself, and he doesn’t want to be responsable for my death. I’m going to prove this _family_ wrong, I’m going to prove them that I can get better. Because that’s the best revenge I can think of. I’m going to go on with my life, I’m going to become someone I can be _proud_ of.

Maybe Larry was right, maybe that’s the best thing he could have done for me. Maybe I needed this. But I’ll never forgive him. No matter what he says, he never believed in me, he never hoped to see me getting better.

And if my only will to live is to spite on the man who once dared to call himself my father, then so be it.

**Author's Note:**

> Connor Murphy deserves redemption and happiness and if the original story won't allow him to get better, I will. 
> 
> I hope I can manage both my stories but I'm a depressed piece of shit so I don't know. Please leave a comment to let me know if this sucks.
> 
> (The title is from the song Dream On by Aerosmith btw).


End file.
